


Observations

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale dotes on them, Beginning of a love story, Crawley scares the plants, Ficlet, First Impressions, First Meeting, Fluff, Garden of Eden, I think?, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, Observations, What were their first thoughts about each other?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: The first time Crawly sees the angel, isn’t when they meet: he’s been watching, lurking and observing, like a proper demon ought to. When Aziraphale meets the demon, he’s seen Crawly before, as he is an ever presence in the Garden, the one the plants always warn him off.The first time Crawly and Aziraphale meet on the walls of the garden, previous observations break for the beginning of truth. And the most observant of readers would know that in this not-completely very first meeting, something quite different starts to grow.





	Observations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [throwingglitteronmyship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwingglitteronmyship/gifts).



> Hi y'all! Thank you so much for that amazingly warm welcome into this fandom. It was overwhelmingly lovely. For those interested, I'm definitely working on some longer fic ideas that I'll be trying to finish up this summer :D In the meantime, have this little thing!

The first time Crawly sees the Angel, it is a day like any other. Adam and Eve are frolicking in a field somewhere, the birds are chirping happily and the plants are suspiciously without fear. Crawly knows the culprit, of course, the azear flowers spilled their secrets quickly, when he threatened to make them into tea— regardless if it hadn’t been invented that, the flower wouldn’t know. 

The Angel, who goes by the name of Aziraphale, had been spoiling the plants rotten— literally. He’d been giving them a life of luxury that was shortened by sweet word he spoke to them. It isn’t like Crawly could do much about it besides slithering his scaly body over the trunks and branches, reminding the flora who had access to the roots underneath, but he’d decided to at least observe his ecological nemesis, to see if his sources hadn’t left anything out. 

So the first time Crawly sees Aziraphale, it’s a day like any other, only now Crawly listens to the gentle tones of the Angel, caressing the most-covered trunk of the baobab. No wonder the wretched tree had refused to shed his bark when Crawly had demanded it— the smug stick of a baobab had kept it in order to be petted.

“So soft, my dear, it looks good on you,” the blasted Angel says, completely ignorant to the fact that the moss is leaching off the baobab’s water supply. Not that there are any dire consequences in the Garden of Eden, where everything always turns out just right, frustratingly so. But it is about the principle of the thing: that the guardian of a holy garden has not been send any instructions, doesn’t have the slightest idea to make things grow. A true heavenly move, that.

Crawly lurks, keeping track of all the mishaps and discretions the Angel makes during his slow pass through the garden. The only place he avoids it where Adam and Eve have decided to spend their day— which is peculiar, until it’s not. Of course heaven wouldn’t let the guardian fraternise with his wards. The celestials are like distant parental figures, loving at an arm's length and telling themselves it is for the best. God has given them that example quite explicitly, so Crawly can’t exactly blame them for their mommy issues. 

But strangely, for a guard the Angel does not exactly guard much. He has a sword on his hip, but the way he moves he seems like he’s forgotten all about it, completely consumed by the world around him, the one he is supposed to protect with violence when the time comes. But now that Crawly watches him, it becomes increasingly hard to imagine those gentle fingers around the handle of the blade of fire, when they just thread through long and gentle blades of grass, to tell them quite earnestly that they are looking ‘positively vibrant this afternoon.’ 

Crawly muses that he’d be able to slither up to the Angel and tug the sword from his belt. The Angel wouldn’t notice, maybe wouldn’t even realise he’d lost it until he reaches for it in the face of conflict and finds it gone. Crawly feels a sudden urge to take it— to prevent that from happening. To annoy the Angel, or frustrate him. Not to keep those hands from shedding their softness— No. Not that at all. 

But Crawly decides against it. He doesn’t want to risk being noticed, either by the Angel or by those watching up above. Not until he’s done with the apple tree, at least. He’s almost got it scared sufficiently that it won’t tattle on him when he begins the tempting of Eve. It wouldn’t do to be interrupted, to have the Angel stand there and grab his sword. To have him strike, and slice in the bark of the tree, hurting those he’d loved so dearly, so softly, right until heaven demanded him to sharpen again. 

So instead Crawly follows, and observes, as the sun continues its radiant dance across the ever-blue sky of day. It bows at the horizon to the earth-bound audience with reds and purples, before leaving the darkening stage to make space for the waltz of the moon and the stars. It is then, that Crawly realises he has made himself an impression. An impression of this angel specifically, because all angels are bad growers, worse threateners, distant guards and sharper than they look. 

The impression that Crawly gets of this Angel named Aziraphale, is that he is lonely. That he is content in this garden, but also completely and utterly alone. And maybe Crawly knows about the urge to speak to those who cannot run away, for their roots keep them tethered to their place. 

So that might be why, once Adam and Eve leave the garden and take with them Aziraphale’s reason to be in this place where he speaks to all that listens, Crawly slithers up the outer walls towards this lonely angel, and offers himself instead. 

Just to listen, just to talk— he is curious, you see; the flaming sword is gone, but less than forgotten. 

Just to tease, just to ‘speculate’ as the Angel put it so well, and maybe, a little, because Crawly had been quite done with being lonely too. 

————

The first time Aziraphale sees the demon of the garden, it’s been a very peculiar day. He had failed, you see, failed _twice over._ Once to stop what had been in Aziraphale’s opinion a fairly clever plan. And once, of his own accord, when he could not help himself but give the sword away. 

But in his own defence: he’s the guardian of the eastern gate, but that really meant the guardian of the garden, which included all that lived within. So he couldn’t just let Adam and Eve go without anything to protect himself, he couldn’t bear the thought. He might have failed, but maybe with that little piece of him, they won’t do the same. 

And yet, it feels utterly wrong, which is distressing because Aziraphale hasn’t had much practice with doing the wrong thing at all. That’s not what he is supposed to do, and entirely not what he is good at— which is a good thing not to be good at, except now that he maybe did do some good and proper not-good doing, without even intending to. 

He isn’t sure— rather he’s completely uncertain, which is also not something he’s used to. Normally there wouldn’t be space for a hint of doubt within the clarity of his orders. Any uncertainty he might have had, has always been dissipated by the simple fact that it was not his position to think about such things. That those who ordered him had surely already considered all possibilities, and his own observations were merely temptations of below to be diligently ignored. 

This is the way things have always gone, and this is what Aziraphale is now lost in. Because giving the sword hadn’t been an order. Worse still: it might have been contrary to an implied directive that heaven had not thought to give him explicitly. He had been charged to use the sword to protect the garden, and Aziraphale had retroactively rationalised that to include giving it to those who once were in the garden, even if they aren’t anymore. 

But he is also quite conscious of the fact that it might not be interpreted in such a way, and because it had been his own directive, the doubts were his to have. So it is natural, he supposes, to feel unsure, but this doesn’t make it pleasant. 

The snake comes over the edge of the wall in Aziraphale’s sixth cycle of the same sequence of thoughts. Crawly, he learns later and decides the name quite apt, surprises him by changing into a human form— if it weren’t for the wings. Aziraphale braces himself for the coming barrage of smugness, of infernal pride as he leeches of Aziraphale’s despair. He expects him to be entirely uncompanionable and nasty, because that is, after all, what demons do. 

But Crawly doesn’t. He holds a conversation without real bite, even sounds like something just short of impressed when Aziraphale admits his failings with the sword, and then reassures Aziraphale that his was an action of good. He doesn’t seem to be lying; truly believes that Aziraphale as an angel is incapable of doing anything but good. Which is ridiculous because he himself had been an angel and had fallen for being capable of rather more than good. But it reassures him anyway, for a moment, right up until Crawly theorizes that maybe they got it wrong after all, the both of them— or Crawly right and Aziraphale wrong. Or wrong for a demon but truly right— or. 

Oh. 

He has found himself a new doubtful circle, and that’s really not what he needed at all. So instead he lets his thoughts fall on his companion, who’d been quite different to the expectations he’d prepared himself for

Because what had been written, about this being the first time to see the demon in the flesh, hadn’t been quite true. Aziraphale had seen Crawly before; a black shadow around a far off branch, a flash of scales between the grass. He has always known when the demon would be coming along by the shaking of the leaves— the plants, who feared nothing and no one besides this wily snake. 

So besides the usual diabolical smugness, Aziraphale had expected to be… shaken. For Crawly to threaten and imbue the same fear he’d cast around the garden. Aziraphale can’t have been an intimidating opponent, as has already failed once against Crawley’s plans, and is without his sword. 

But once again, Crawly doesn’t, none of it. Just stands there, besides him, watching Adam and Eve brave the course sands of the world beyond the walls. The ever-blue has been replaced by a looming grey, a scent Aziraphale has never smelled before giving warning to the very first drops to fall below. 

One hits Crawly’s wing, just the tip of it, and Aziraphale has a sudden realisation. He has been the guardian of the garden for as long as Crawly has been slithering inside of it, which means that, even though he is a demon, he still falls under Aziraphale’s guard. 

So Aziraphale curves his wing over Crawly’s form, protecting the one ward of Eden he still has left from the coming storm. Crawley steps in closer, bringing Aziraphale such a rush of satisfaction that it causes yet another cycle of doubt. 

Just this once, he promises himself. Just this once. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm practicing with this mysterious concept of ficlets, its this thing where you don't write 30k and wonder were all your free time has gone. It's a process. Let me know what y'all thought! I'm way more used to complexer narratives, those are more of my comfort zone, so knowing if y'all liked this as much would really help me out :D If smaller things like this are alright I'd be able to post more often. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and again, thank you for everything!
> 
> Disclaimer: I know little to none about things theological, so I'm mostly just inferring from the show, and so doing wrongly, probably!
> 
> \----------------
> 
> I’m going to be posting this message on every fic of mine from now on:  
> In the EU a fandom-unfriendly law can be accepted this year, and though it shouldn’t implemented for some time, I want to prepare. Non-commercial content shouldn’t be blocked and the OTW should protect us, but you never know with algorithms. So if it turns out I can’t post fic anymore/use tumblr anymore, I want to have a mailing list to send fic around. (Like the good old days, so I’ve heard.)  
> Send a mail to somedrunkpirate@gmail.com to get on the list. I hope it won’t be necessary, but just in case.


End file.
